


Painting With Coffee

by adrianicsea



Category: Cobra Starship
Genre: College AU, M/M, art school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianicsea/pseuds/adrianicsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Art school AU. Ryland is a visual art major who loves hanging out in the shitty coffee shop on 42nd with his boyfriend Alex. He also loves painting the mysterious, disheveled guy who always seems to be sitting in the corner of the shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painting With Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Open-Ended Poems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731110) by [princehurley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princehurley/pseuds/princehurley). 



Ryland had always liked coffee. It wasn’t even the taste of it that he cared about– that took a backseat to its smell, its color, the pleasant warmth it gave off in his hands, the fact that you could paint with it. And, of course, the quietly busy atmosphere of the cafe where the coffee lived. The cafe on 42nd, in particular, where nobody paid any attention to Ryland no matter how he happened to be dressed that day.

Until, one day, someone did.

Ryland was sitting in his usual booth with Alex, swapping jokes and stories about their classes when Ryland happened to notice a guy sitting alone at one of the corner tables. For one second, they locked eyes– had the guy been watching Ryland?– and then he hurriedly ducked his head, scribbling something in the notebook in front of him. He had dark curly hair and darker eyes, framed by bruised shadows that looked almost permanent, but Ryland thought he could barely make out a splash of freckles across the guy’s nose. He’d be fun to draw, Ryland thought as he watched.

“Hey, genius!” Alex said, and Ryland turned back to him, smiling sheepishly.

“What is it?”

Alex nodded down at Ryland’s sketchbook, which lay open in front of him as it always did. There was a large smear of coffee blossoming onto the page that Ryland hadn’t put there on purpose.

“Maybe you wanna be more careful next time you go to check people out, huh?” Alex asked with a grin. Ryland chuckled softly and leaned across the table, giving him a quick kiss on the nose before returning to his seat.

“I wasn’t checking anyone out, Lex.” As he spoke, Ryland pulled the paintbrush from his hair, releasing it from its approximately bun-shaped collective. “ _He_ was looking at _me_.”

Alex laughed and nudged Ryland’s knee with his own. “Uh-huh, that’s what they all say.”

Ryland just smiled and nudged Alex back as he pushed the spilled coffee around the page with his brush, spreading and blotting it here and there. The droplets started to resemble freckles.

–

After that first encounter, Ryland started noticing the guy in the corner more and more often– not in the way he would notice something like a screaming clown in the cafe, or a giant ice sculpture of an armadillo, but in the subtle way he noticed architecture in the streets and brushstrokes in museum paintings. Corner Guy (for that had become his name in Ryland’s mind) was a part of the cafe now, same as the chocolate-colored decor and the small heart inscribed with “R&A” on the corner of the table in Ryland’s booth.

Some days, Ryland watched Corner Guy between bites of his bagel and painted him with his coffee; some days it was hurried pen scribbles of anything and everything in the cafe on a napkin, with barely a centimeter of Ryland’s makeshift canvas dedicated to freckles and bruised eyes. Some days Ryland didn’t draw him at all, when he was too engrossed in conversation or games of footsie with Alex. Even on those days, though, he remained vaguely aware of Corner Guy watching him. Alex laughed and called Ryland paranoid, but Ryland noticed Alex was extra affectionate and clingy with him on those days.

–

Two weeks later, Ryland had to erase the heart in his booth. Whether it was Alex’s paranoia about Corner Guy or the new kid– Nick? Nate?– in Alex’s cooking class was anybody’s guess. Ryland knew that high school relationships almost never lasted, and he should be grateful that he and Alex made it as long as they did (and that it ended on mostly good terms), but fuck it, Ryland was an art student. If he wanted to wallow in self-pity and paint wilting roses for a week or two, that was his prerogative.

He almost sat in his usual booth, but it just felt wrong without Alex. Ryland grabbed his coffee and headed for the door. Maybe he was imagining it, but it felt like Corner Guy watched him go.

Maybe tomorrow Ryland would be able to sit there.

–

As it turned out, “maybe tomorrow” happened nearly a year later. It wasn’t that Ryland had been avoiding the place– well, for the first month or two he had. And then he got busy with what felt like a billion art projects, and then he had somehow gotten roped into the theatre program (not that he minded), and now– it was finals week. Ryland had only ducked into the cafe on 42nd because he felt like he was going to quite literally die if he didn’t get some caffeine in him immediately. He grabbed his coffee and a slice of cake and, on impulse, headed for his old usual booth… Only to see it occupied. A lot can change in a year. Ryland huffed a small laugh and took a table instead, propping one long leg up on the empty chair across from him.

Normally, Ryland would either take his coffee and go or else work on something in his sketchbook. But today he was exhausted, and he still had to help clean the dressing room that night. So he just sat there lounging, taking in the scenery of the cafe. It was still decorated in those chocolate colors he loved so well. From the looks of the couple sitting in his old booth, there would soon be a new heart on the table. And there, in his corner, was Corner Guy.

Wait. Holy shit.

Corner Guy looked just as sleepless and coffee-driven as he had the last time Ryland had seen him, all those months ago, and he was still sitting in his corner table. Maybe one year wasn’t enough time for things to change after all, Ryland thought. And then Ryland stopped thinking, because Corner Guy was getting up. Corner Guy was walking towards him. Corner Guy was handing him a piece of paper without a word.

Ryland raised a questioning eyebrow at Corner Guy, but he just stood there, waiting for Ryland to read… Whatever the paper was. It’d be rude to keep him waiting– who knew how long Corner Guy had been waiting to get this to him? So Ryland smoothed out the sheet of paper and started to read.

 _I am another poet_  
Drinking black coffee and  
Pretending that I like the taste  
Of nicotine and regret  
On my tongue.  

 _The world is a series of stories_  
In which the plots have all  
Been used before.  
Humans share 99% of their genes.  
It is impossible to be  
An original.

 _Yet when I look at you_  
It feels like something scientists  
Haven’t studied before.

 _My poetry is all the same_  
A different arrangement  
Of twenty six letters  
Because I can’t find  
An original definition of the damn phrase  
“I Love You”.

For a long second, there was silence. Then Ryland mumbled, “Wow,” and it sounded weak to his own ears. Judging from the burning in his cheeks, his face was about as red as his boots. Biting his lip, Ryland glanced back up at Corner Guy. He looked like he was two seconds away from fleeing the scene.

“Are…” Ryland lost his nerve, trailed off, tried again. “Are you serious about this?”

Corner Guy nodded, still silent, studying the surface of the table now. He ran a hand across the back of his neck.

“Well, it’s an awesome poem.” Fuck, that sounded lame. Two semesters of art appreciation and _that_ was the best Ryland could do? “Do you mind if I keep it?”

“It’s all yours.” Corner Guy’s voice was shaky, but it was so uniquely harsh and smooth all at once that Ryland immediately wanted to hear more. He took his feet out of the other chair, hoping that Corner Guy would take the hint and sit down with him. After a moment’s hesitation, he did. Still blushing, Ryland smiled at Corner Guy and sat up in his chair.

“I’m Ryland, by the way.”

Corner Guy offered a shy smile back at Ryland, his dark eyes lighting up.

“I’m Gabe.”

 _Gabriel._ Renaissance paintings of angels flickered through Ryland’s head.

“Well, Gabe–” Ryland’s smile widened and he reached out one hand, resting it gingerly on top of Gabe’s. It was hard to tell which of them was more surprised by the action. “You wanna go out Friday night?”

Gabe beamed like he’d just won the lottery. Now that they were this close, Ryland could almost count the poet’s freckles.

They looked like coffee splashed into a sketchbook.


End file.
